Potatoes VS Pasta
by HomeSkiletBiskit
Summary: The ultimate question: potatoes or pasta? How does this debate come about? Is there a victor? All Germany wanted was some potato stew, is that too much to ask? One-shot. No pairings. My first Hetalia story, I hope you enjoy it!


'Ello HSB here with my first Hetalia story! Whoop! Whoop! *crickets* Just me? Okay. I really liked the anime and wanted to write a fanfic for a while, but could never come up with an idea I liked. I decided to do a one-shot for now soooo here you go! Also I haven't decided if I want to do the character names or just stick to the countries… I'm going to do country names right now but I might change!

Disclaimer: If only~ If only~ the woodpecker cries~ (Holes book reference anyone?) But yeah not all wishes come true, so don't own don't sue! [This is my new disclaimer catchphrase ya like it? :D Not including the Holes part)]

Enough rambling! Please enjoy~!

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**Potatoes VS Pasta**

"Italy! Just try it!"

"Nope! Pasta will always be supreme~!"

"There is nothing delicious about squashed tomatoes and noodles!" Germany fumed back. The argument was getting increasingly frustrating on his part.

"Oh, but there is~, you should try some~!" Italy grinned back.

"Japan, which is better, potatoes or pasta?" Germany asked, hoping for some assistance.

"Well I prefer takoyaki myself," he responded.

"Ugh! Why are all of you so thick-headed?" A vein began throbbing, warning him of an approaching headache.

The grouchy man was regretting ever stirring up this argument with the Italian. He should have known that such a naïve individual would never entertain a reasonable quarrel. It wasn't about war or starvation, things a country should be concerned about. The conversation was over which of their preferred cuisines was superior for goodness sake! _How did this even start in the first place? _

_~xXxXxXxXxXx Forty-Five Minutes Earlier xXxXxXxXxXx~_

It was a beautiful evening. The entire manor was engulfed in a serene silence. This pleased the German resident, for he had been expecting the building to be in absolute chaos. The reason? A few of his newfound allies had been visiting to make plans on future developments. The guests would have been an absolute treat, had it not been for a certain European ally.

Italy.

He was a terror from the moment he stepped foot into the mansion. All day long he would follow Germany around requesting all kinds of ridiculous things.

'Doitsu! Doitsu! Can I sleep in your room?'

'Doitsu! Doitsu! Can I fix your car again?'

' Doitsu! Doitsu! Will you make me pasta?'

' Doitsu! Doitsu! Did I use the grenade right this time?'

BOOM!

It all blows up in his face. Some days it really makes him wonder what he saw in him that caused him to even remotely consider him as a useful ally.

Manpower maybe? No, if that were the case there would be plenty of other choices to consider.

Potential? Well, that's questionable to say the least. He doesn't seem like he would become a decent warrior if Rome came down here himself and gave him personal lessons.

The German sighed as he continued walking down the long corridor. He desperately needed something to eat after the nine hour long debate with Greece. That was the last time he would try to convince him that the cats around the district weren't in any immediate danger, from the ongoing battles. Now, good money was to be wasted on patrols that would cruise around the camp in search of those evil little felines.

Germany always was more of a dog person.

Back to the point, he hadn't eaten all day and had a taste for potato stew and a cool glass of beer. He was now within twelve feet of the kitchen door. There was a distinct aroma of… what was that? Tomatoes?

His face went blank.

No, it couldn't be. He wasn't due back for another three days. Maybe it was Romano, yeah; he likes tomatoes just as much. His face lightened up considerably, but his moment of hope was short-lived. No, he was with Spain.

The German stopped walking for a second to take a deep breath. He hadn't even realized that he was panicking.

_Just keep walking, don't make assumptions. _He thought while desperately trying to calm his heart rate. He did not want to have to give up beer again due to high blood pressure.

He finished walking the rest of the way to the kitchen and burst through the double doors.

There was Italy, as expected.

He was eating a massive bowl of Bolognese, as expected.

He was trying to convince Japan to try some-and succeeding, unexpected.

That was the problem with this scene.

Germany was a firm believer in delusional pasta syndrome (DPS). The idea was that if you so much as ate a spoonful of the substance, you would become highly addicted and see everything through the eyes of a carefree wimp. He already had one ally victimized by DPS, two would be…uhhh; he shivered at the thought.

The fork was a few centimeters from the complacent man's mouth, just waiting to infect his entire being.

No, this would not happen on his watch. He lunged forward, snatched the silverware from Italy's hand and launched the projectile straight out of the window.

Only then did he realize how utterly ridiculous he must have looked. From the others point of view it must have looked something like this:

Two calm gentlemen sat at a table, when one of them kindly offered the other a taste of his dinner. The other hesitantly complied, thinking it couldn't hurt. The Bolognese was a hairsbreadth from the mouth of the receiver. Suddenly, a flushed German man burst into the room, seeming to be irritated already. He takes one look at the scene and rushes forward in a flash. In one giant leap, he jumps onto the table and throws the innocent serving of pasta through the window.

Germany sees the stunned looks on his comrades' faces and steps off of the table, straightens his uniform, and calmly walks to the cabinet to take out ingredients for his stew.

No one says anything for a few beats, opting instead to individually reflect on what just took place. Italy begins with a simple, yet dam-breaking, question.

"Do you not like pasta, Doitsu?"

He begins adding ingredients as he answers. "No. Why would I consume something that's downright foul?"

Italy asks while still smiling, "Have you ever tried it?"

Germany waits a few moments. Has he ever tried it? Surely he must have; there are distinct memories of him retching at the odor, but never consumption.

"Well…no."

"Then you should have some also, Doitsu!" Italy is now out of his seat and approaching him.

One look at the bowl of noodles and the German attempts a hasty retreat, which is quite impossible in the claustrophobic space.

He has a sudden brilliant thought. _Why join them when you can beat them? That was how the saying goes, right? Oh well, I'll leave the sayings to America. _

"Italy, why don't you try potatoes instead?"

"Veveveve~ why should I have some when there is paaasta?"

Furthermore, it became a battle of questions that soon turned into a battle of reasoning, and finally into an all-out food fight-in more ways than one, too.

In a final thought, Germany wonders, why must everything become so trivial?

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Okay, not completely satisfied, but content. Check out my other story and vice versa to get a feel of the kind of humor I was trying to get across. I promise I'll do try to do better in later works, it's late but I wanted to get something out this weekend.

Don't forget to drop a review on your way out!

This is HSB typing out~


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